


Spiral

by The Results are Iridescent (flyingllamas)



Series: right on one side, wrong on the other [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingllamas/pseuds/The%20Results%20are%20Iridescent
Summary: Hana said it took twenty-one days to form a habit.It should have been simple to do.The universe only gave him four days before everything went wrong.





	Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hunterx700 and Kangoo for beta-ing!
> 
> Written for theme #85, "Spiral".
> 
> As always, my tumblr is llamastheflying.tumblr.com if you wanna hit me up with any questions or complaints.

It was yet another of Hana’s spontaneous theories and, like most ideas she came up with unrelated to battle tactics (either in Starcraft or actual combat), it was completely awful.

 

“It’s really simple in theory,” she told Lúcio through a mouthful of chips and ice cream. It was a combination that he always found awful, but it made appearance any time either of them had something go down that required ‘bestie time’, as Hana put it. “You just need to stay so busy that you can’t think about him. Eventually, you’ll just forget to think about him. They say it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. Think you can do it?”

 

Hana didn’t know much about Akande, other than he was _exactly_ Lúcio’s type and managed to severely bruise his fragile heart. She didn’t even know his name, because he’d never told her and she’d never asked. It was the unspoken rule when they got together that the other person didn’t pry, to just let everything flow out naturally.

 

This time, Hana perched on the ratty old couch she’d found in the depths of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, after having put on something awful (anime, probably) on the holoscreen at the front of the room. Lúcio sat on the floor with his back against the couch, letting Hana comb her fingers through his recently cleaned hair. After a lot of practice, he was comfortable with her helping twist his hair back into locs.  

 

It was hard, sometimes, to reconcile this Hana with the one he went on missions with. When she was out of the MEKA, she was bright and happy and spontaneous. In it, she was cold, calculating, and brutal, everything she trained to be as essentially a child soldier.

“I’m going to bet that’s worked for exactly _no one_ ,” he told her, eyes trained on the screen in front of him but not really watching. “How do you come up with this stuff?”

 

“I don’t,” she said, but then backtracked. “At least, I didn’t come up with this. It’s something 76 mentioned to me once.”

 

“You should leave that poor guy alone,” Lúcio mumbled, and then asked “What did he have to say? I didn’t think he really had anything or anyone outside of just being an old soldier past his time.”

 

“You tell me to leave him alone and still want to scoop? I don’t think that’s fair!” She tugged on a completed loc playfully.

 

“It’s not like you’re going to leave him alone anyway. Just spill!”

 

He expected Hana to spill immediately, like whenever she had a juicy piece of gossip about someone on base, but she hesitated. “I’m not really sure if it’s my story or whatever to tell, but...I found him one night when I was exploring, out near the big beacon that acts like a lighthouse over the straight. His visor was off and he was slamming back this cheap ass beer. I asked him if he wanted to have some company, to share some war stories and beer because I had some too and god knows none of us are getting therapy anytime soon and he told me, ‘That’s not why I’m out here’.

 

“He let me join him though, and few beers later he started talking. Said that back when he was the head of this whole shindig, he had a person that he was really close to, that he fell in love with. He never told them though and they died when that base blew up. He told me that piece of advice, though. Said that’s how he got over it. Maybe it’ll work for you.”

 

“Did he ever say who they were?” Lúcio asked, curious.

 

“Nah,” she said, flipping a finished loc over his shoulder. “But hey, his advice has to be worth something. He’s got way more age and wisdom and senior discounts than we’ll ever have. He probably knows what he’s talking about.”

 

He hummed softly in agreement, but couldn’t help imagining 76 up on that lighthouse tower. Hana probably didn’t realize that if he was up there mourning by himself that his tactics for forgetting hadn’t worked after all. Maybe his advice had worked once upon a time, but obviously something or someone recently dragged every bit of thought and obsession and grief back to the forefront of his mind. Lúcio didn’t plan on taking Hana’s advice, at least not originally. As was the case with everything in his life, but especially concerning Overwatch, trouble soon followed.

 

* * *

  


He told himself at first that he wanted to know more about Akande because he needed to thank him for the research and schematics left behind on the holo tablet. Not because, he scolded himself, he was still enamoured with the man despite not seeing him in over two weeks and despite the lack of any further promise. Searching for him on the web hadn’t been his immediate course of actions because it felt weird to search for someone he’d been so...personal...with in such an impersonal way. Lúcio was afraid of what he’d find, afraid that his experience that night would be far from unique, even if nothing was promised to make it that way. He soon found that with Akande, that should have been the least of his worries.

 

Instead, he checked the message Akande left for him on the datapad, hoping for some overt contact information he missed on his first glance through or clues in the metadata. The message itself was as unhelpful at it had been before. Checking the metadata was no better; it was as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, leaving it utterly unsalvageable and utterly useless. It was too much like recovered data from old watchpoints and Talon bases, deliberately obscured and damaged to hide the fingerprints of individuals long gone, or long damned in their pursuits.

 

Lúcio chose to look past the oddity. Surely Akande had his reasons for masking his digital trail. From his knowledge to his (too) expensive suit to the small red plates on his head announcing the fine intraneural nerve wiring to his prosthetic, it was clear he was _someone_ , someone who dearly didn’t want to be found trivially. It should have scared Lúcio more than it did. He wasn’t prepared for how hard the fear and realization would hit him.

 

It had been entirely too easy to find out about Akande on the web. Lúcio thought that he misspelled his name at first because _surely_ this couldn’t be the intimidating but gentle man he met. A quick check of the message of the datapad confirmed he had it right and a hard, cold lump of anxiety settled deep in his gut. He steeled himself and clicked on the first biography page that popped up. His eyes lighted on the picture and the lump immediately shot up into his stomach, nausea rising quickly. He threw the datapad (the same one from Akande) violently away from him and dashed to the bathroom to lose his lunch. The datapad landed on the bed’s comforter and was fine. Lúcio’s emotional state, however, was not.

 

Lúcio could honestly say before he saw Akande’s picture that there was not much he regretted in life or, at least, nothing he regretted deeply. He mourned deeply those lost in the revolution he’d started, wished there had been a better way, but he knew his regret would do nothing to change the past and only dishonor their memory. He didn’t really regret the actions that led him to lose his lower legs; after all, he wouldn’t be the same person or have all the same friends today with them.

 

After emptying his stomach, he rested his head back against the wall. He realized, panting slightly, that this was his first true regret. The only person that could reasonably be worse in this situation might be Gabriel Reyes, if he ever really was a person when he was still in Blackwatch (there was still so much he didn’t know or wasn’t privileged to). Or maybe Widowmaker. Still, Akande -- Doomfist -- was terrible in his own right. He killed so many in his rise to power through Talon; more still would be lost Talon’s warmongering efforts succeeded. He was the antithesis to everything Lúcio stood for in his life and Lúcio had let him see the most vulnerable part of him, both personally and with his tech.

 

The memory of being touched gently by Akande, by the same hands that killed so many, flitted by in his brain and Lúcio smashed his head back against the tile wall, quashing down the nausea that rose violently in him with pain. He took a few deeps breaths and tried to center himself. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be. After all, Aka-- _Doomfist_ certainly hadn’t mentioned to anyone what had happened between them and if he did, it hadn’t gotten out. Maybe this was just another passing thing for Doomfist or at most, some manipulation on Talon’s part. He couldn’t let it get to him. He wouldn’t.

 

The keypad beeping faintly in the distance was all the warning he got before Hana barged into his room, 76 in tow with a tray of food. Apparently in his internal angsting, he missed dinner. Hana joined him on the floor of the bathroom without hesitation, smoothing his locs away form his face. 76 positioned himself in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom with the tray balanced on a single hand, obviously irritated by being dragged along but still not leaving.

 

“You never miss dinner, are you sick?” asked Hana. Lúcio shook his head and smiled weakly at her.

 

“Nah, I’m not sick,” he said and tried to stand up. Hana pulled him back down to the cool floor.

 

“What’s wrong? I know something’s wrong. Is it him?” she asked once more. Lúcio glanced up quickly at 76. The old soldier seemed to be unimpressed by what the youngsters before him were talking about and studying the room around him. An arched eyebrow above his visor, though, cued Lúcio into the fact that 76 was actually listening to their conversation.

 

“Um, kinda,” Lúcio admitted quietly, trying to prevent 76 from listening in. It probably didn’t work; super soldier hearing made having private conversations near impossible. “Just...I think I need to take your advice, for once. I’m driving myself nuts.”

 

Hana helped him to his feet and together, they stumbled back into the bedroom. His prosthetics feld like dead weight as he settled back onto the bed. Hana relocated the tablet to his bedside table, where 76 also placed the tray of food. 76 averted his gaze when Lúcio undid the locks on the prosthetics but Hana just leaned on his shoulder, entirely used to seeing his legs off and knowing it just made everything more awkward if she ignored the elephant in the room.

 

76 took up post by the door, clearly waiting for Hana as she whispered to Lúcio, “Love sucks. It gets better though. I promise.”

 

“It’s not, uh, love and thanks. For the advice. And for dinner.”

 

She pushed herself off his shoulder and off bed. “No problem! Text me if you need anything else. And hey, maybe you should start taking my advice more often.”

 

“You had a good idea for once?” rumbled 76’s voice finally. “The world must be ending.”

 

Hana pouted at him with crossed arms as he poked roughly at the keypad to open the door. 76 waited outside in the hall as she hugged Lúcio.

 

“Can it, mister,” she told the old soldier as she joined him in the hallway. “Besides, this bit of wisdom wasn’t one-hundred-percent Hana Song Certified. If it goes topsy turvy, it’s your fault.”

 

The door closed, but Lúcio could still hear the indignant, “My fault?” from the other side as he flopped back down the bed. For some reason, he had a feeling that sleep would not come easy.

 

* * *

  


Everything that could go wrong, did so like this:

 

Hana said it took twenty-one days to form a habit. Simple enough, Lúcio thought. Overwatch always had a plethora of missions available, ranging from escort situations to active combat situations. He signed himself up for the most mind numbing missions he can find after he fails to not think of the night in Rio for a week straight. This will work, he told himself.

 

And it did, for about four days. Four days of pushing himself to the limit and falling in his bed or a cot every night, absolutely exhausted. Four days of getting up, showering, and throwing himself back into his work, healing and guiding and fighting with blood making his skin tacky.

 

His life hadn’t been this intense since living back in the favela under Vishkar. These missions were the most extreme Overwatch had to offer, the ones that were always waiting for one last brave soul to make them a reality. Lúcio found himself crawling through vent ducts and scorching under the heat of the Cairo sun, all in the name of justice (and keeping his mind off of Akande). He didn’t even realize his plan was working.

  


Everything went wrong, starting like this:

 

They’re up in a satellite state of Russia and the air was cold enough to make breathing physically hurt. The sun, just starting to set below the horizon, did not help the temperature at all. The mission is in an area that could be described as a slum. Each shack was built out spare parts, whether from the siding of trains or the hulls of Volskaya mechs and rats, more impervious to the cold than Lúcio was, ran underfoot.The streets were narrow and wound through it in an almost non-Euclidean manner, making it all the more impossible to avoid the sharp icicles hanging from the tin ramshackle roofs. If not for the cold, it would make Lúcio miss his favela fiercely.

 

There was a definite sense of poverty, yes, but also a feeling of community and belonging. Everyone here knew each other and each other’s business, which made the Overwatch team’s presence all the more glaringly obvious. Their objective was a specific omnic living in one of these shacks, particularly escorting them to safety from the harshly anti-omnic groups circling like sharks around the neighborhood. Omnics were exceedingly rare in Russia, though this omnic had managed to survive long enough to see many others of their kind to safety. Now, only they remained, trapped by those wanting to persecute them for the crime of protecting others. The community didn’t know or trust their intentions to help, though, and so hidden the omnic remained.

 

Today’s squad was smaller than their usual six man. He was accompanied by Soldier 76 and McCree, of all people and was dismayed when neither man seemed very bothered by the cold. They split up early on, to gain more ground, and Lúcio found himself quietly skating through icy alleys, followed only by the quiet hum of his sonic amplifier and the stares of the slum’s residents. There was at least a clue to where this omnic might be in the form of some sort of symbol painted on the upper left of their door, but that was according to the worried omnics this one helped. Still, working on old information was better than none at all.

 

He barely turned a corner when an explosion nearby rocked the slums, causing some of the icicles to fall from the eaves, shattering on the ground melodiously. Lúcio quickly backtracked to the alley he came from in search of better cover, hand reaching up to the comm in his ear to consult his team about what just happened.

 

76 only had time to growl out, “Talon, Reaper,” before the rest of the icicles crashed down in a cacophony as something heavy landed behind him. Lúcio froze, heart in his throat and his skin prickling up from something other than the cold. He had a feeling that, if he were to turn around, he would know exactly who was behind him.

 

 

Everything went wrong because Hana’s plan couldn’t possibly account for Doomfist _finding him in the middle of a mission._

 

Once, he read that the now extinct wolves in America proper would refuse to look at or acknowledge humans when they were caught in a trap. Sometimes, a wolf would twist itself around in a trap if that meant not looking at a human nearby. It was as though they thought trouble didn’t exist or would go away if it wasn’t acknowledged. He didn’t understand it then, but he did now.

 

“We meet again, Lúcio Correia dos Santos,” rumbled a voice behind him. Lúcio willed his knees to not give out and turned around finally, knowing that not facing an enemy was probably the stupidest thing he could do, next to being intimate with the same enemy.

 

The next stupidest thing came out of his mouth a moment later and he wanted to slap himself. “Just Lúcio is fine, but you know that.”

 

The corner of Akande’s mouth twitched up into a smirk as he approached Lúcio. The way he moved reminded Lúcio of some sort of big cat stalking its prey. Any other time it might have been a flattering comparison, but in this case…

 

The prey was a rather idiotic frog.

 

Lúcio skated smoothly backwards, intent on putting some space between himself and Akande--Doomfist---he really needed to stop conflating this man with anything but _enemy_ . He hoped Doomfist wouldn’t force him to wallride to escape, as he knew there was another wall fast approaching behind his back. Escaping that giant gauntlet while having little control on a wall other than forward was _not_ Lúcio’s idea of a good time. Really, Lúcio ought to just flee but some stupid part of him wanted to know why he was sought out specifically.

 

Thankfully, Doomfist stopped. Still, his huge frame filled up the narrow alley to the point where Lúcio could barely see past him. In contrast to the images he saw in his earlier search of the Talon, the mountain of a man actually wore a shirt, with one long sleeve that nearly extended past his free hand and the other tied up above his gleaming gauntlet.

 

“I am glad to see you once more. You were not on any of the usual missions you take for Overwatch.”

 

Lúcio’s first thought was that, duh, he wasn’t on any of those missions because he was trying to avoid the man, whether it was actually encountering him or simply thinking about him. His second was to question if Akande was actually looking for _him_. Was the man actively stalking Overwatch just to talk to him? Subtly, he muted the comm in his ear, listening with only half attention as 76 screeched commands into their line like a hoarse, old crow .

 

“I have to say that, uh, I’m not really that glad,” Lúcio as he shifted his weight back and forth on his skates and studied the eaves. They were just tall enough that wallriding might be possible to get past Doomfist, but there would be a problem if he wanted to launch himself on top of the building due to the eaves.

 

The smirk dropped instantly and Lúcio felt his veins turned to ice. Happy Akande was terrifying and intimidating but this was on a whole other level. He wasn’t sure if he would be more intimidated of Reaper if the ghast decided to show his face right then and there (it was doubtful though, if the traded gunfire between a pulse rifle and shotguns in the distance was anything to go by).

 

“I must admit, I thought you might be slightly more cordial, especially after how our first meeting ended.”

 

Nope. Nope. What man experienced in modern combat would ever say that in the possible presence of comms that _either side could hear_?

 

“Yeah, no, not after what a quick search of you brought up. No way.” Peeking down the other alley revealed a McCree rolling by like a tumbleweed, quickly followed by gunfire. That was a definite no.

 

“You did not realize who I was.” It was not a question. Lúcio glanced back and met Akande’s gaze levelly. There was no referring to him as Doomfist anymore, not with his insistence of talking about that night.

 

“No,” he said. Akande huffed out a laugh and shook his head incredulously. The slight movement caused his giant gauntlet to gleam with the weak rays of the dying sun.

 

“I see. So you make it a habit then, to let total strangers make modifications that could leave you helpless? To let them bring you to the end and--”

 

“Could you not?” Lúcio interrupted. “Go there, I mean. To answer your question so you will _stop_ coming back to that, no, I don’t. Now if you could stop mentioning that night, I’d be super happy because I know we both have active comms and I don’t particularly want an international syndicate knowing the details of what I do in my free time.”

 

“My comm is muted,” Akande said. “I assume yours is the same.”

 

The gears turned in Lúcio’s head, though he was quickly brought out of his reverie by another explosion, this one closer than last time. Helix rockets, maybe?

 

“Your team doesn’t know either,” he said slowly.

 

“Yes,” said Akande.

 

“You’re not here for Talon reasons,” Lúcio clarified and then asked, “Why are you following me?”

 

This gave Akande pause.

 

“This is not entirely Talon related, no,” he said. “I saw a kindred spirit in you that night. One who knew what it was like to fight and rise above, to overcome and be better for it.”

 

“So, what? You think I’m just going to follow you back to Talon because you helped me out that night? Because I fought in a war and came out on the winning side of it?”

“I did not think it would be so simple as that, but in essence yes.”

 

A harsh laugh rang through the air and Lúcio realized it was his own. Even Akande looked surprised.

 

“You really must think I’m some sort of idiot.” Akande tried to object, but Lúcio continued speaking over him, fueled by a level of anger he didn’t know that he possessed. “No, seriously. Did you really think I would be, what, _seduced_ by you into joining Talon? Just because I fit into some part of your weird philosophy? Let me tell you a few things.

 

“I’m not better because of what happened with Vishkar in Rio. Just because I don’t regret my actions doesn’t mean I want to go through it all again, that I can say I’m better for everything that happened. I don’t know how you could think anyone could be better from losing their legs, their family, everything in their life, from watching children and their parents die from the labor they were forced to do or the beatings from being out past curfew. Even worse is seeing people die in the name of a cause you yourself have spearheaded, before they could ever know a better life.

 

“You think I’m better for that? That they’re better for that? You can seriously fuck right off with that ideology and take your rich boy self elsewhere because I’m done here.”

 

Lúcio rushed towards Akande and started to crouch to begin his jump. Akande, seeing the change in posture, lunged for him but missed him by inches, hurtling towards the other end of the alley with the gauntlet. Homefree, Lúcio continued to wallride and flipped around to watch as Akande pulled up short of crashing at the end of the alley before backflipping off a wall to land in the larger street.

 

“Lúcio, wait!”

 

The first shot, he reasoned later, didn’t make its mark because Widowmaker wasn’t anticipating the manner of his exit from the alley. Still, it shattered the green plexiglass of his goggles and caused him to land off kilter, not entirely balanced on his skates.

 

The second hit him, but also not in its intended place. Akande, having realizing the gravity of the situation far before Lúcio did, lunged out of the alley and tackled him into the ground. Still the sniper’s bullet found its way into his right lung, entirely too close to his heart. He wouldn’t know that until later, though.

 

Lúcio’s world seemed to grind to a halt. Some part of him dimly registered how nice and warm Akande was over him, especially compared to how cold it was. Another part registered Akande yelling into his now unmuted com, ordering Widowmaker to stand down as he was pulled into the man’s lap, while his own comm screamed in his ear.

 

Akande ripped off part of his sleeve and balled it up. When he pressed it against the wound on Lúcio’s chest, the pain finally cut through the haze in his mind.

 

Fuck.

 

He’d been shot.

 

Pain crawled through his chest like fire and he couldn’t suppress a whimper that came out even more pathetic than it should with a pierced lung. It had been so long since he was last shot -- usually his blades were quick enough to keep him out of the line of fire. It was a familiar enough of a sensation to know that something was very, very wrong with the way pain flowed through his body.

 

Akande murmured apologies as he cradled Lúcio’s body and kept the cloth pressed to the wound, though it was quickly apparent it was doing nothing to help. Lúcio smiled and tried to laugh, even as he failed catching his breath. There were worse ways to go than been looked after by a really attractive guy he thought and he must have vocalized it because Akande ruefully chuckled as he raised a hand to cradle Lúcio’s face. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open and the hand that was cradling his face soon turned to striking it lightly, probably in an attempt to keep him awake.

 

He heard footsteps quickly approaching and suddenly, the pain cut to a fraction of what it had been. Lúcio found the strength to crack open his eyes and he saw Akande still looming over him, tense and lit by a warm yellow light. Lúcio let his head loll over to the side and saw 76 crouched by them. That explained the light, most likely from one of the soldier’s portable biotic fields.

 

“I’m not going to kill you,” 76 said quietly. “I’m not even going to tell anyone about this. I’ve been through this same thing. Just please, give him to me. We can still save him from the venom.”

 

Venom? Was that what was making this so painful?

 

Akande hesitated, before gently lifting Lúcio up from his lap and letting 76 take him into his arms. The cold leather of 76’s jacket was significantly different from Akande’s own natural warmth and Lúcio shivered violently. Akande’s hand stroked the side of his face gently and Lúcio leaned into the warm touch thankfully.

 

“Take care of him,” Akande told 76, who inclined his head slightly in response. The soldier shoved the biotic emitter in his pocket and took off running. Lúcio didn’t make to the ship before losing the fight to unconsciousness, but he was awake long enough to hear the tell-tale boom that announced Akande’s takeoff with the gauntlet.

 

* * *

 

It took three days for Lúcio to wake up completely.

 

In the meanwhile, he woke up for seconds or minutes at time.

 

Once, he woke up to Hana tying his hair back in a scarf, considerate of the way it went absolutely bonkers whenever he slept or neglected to take care of it. Her face was puffy and red, probably from crying and she stroked his face gently when she saw that his eyes were open.

 

Another time, he saw Zenyatta meditating in the corner of the room, lit only by the afternoon light filtering in through the blinds. The chiming of the orbs around the omnic quickly lulled Lúcio back into unconsciousness.

 

When he finally awoke, the room was empty save for 76. The old man sat in a chair in the corner where Zenyatta previously was, snoring beneath a magazine that lay on his face. The room was darkened and from the lack of light outside, Lúcio could guess it was well past the time any decent person should be awake. Sore and conscious of the too-tight bandages that swaddled his abdomen, Lúcio carefully sat up. He was surprised when nurses didn’t immediately swarm in with the pick up in heart rate, but it was night after all. He noticed that someone had taken his legs off and it irked him slightly that they weren’t in sight.

 

He tucked a stray lock of hair back into the scarf and dipped his head to his chest to inspect the wound, or what little he could see of it. Purple blood vessels, so dark they were nearly black, crawled out from under the bandage, clearly damaged by whatever the bullet was laced with. It would be a long while before he was completely recovered. With the wound so close to his heart, he was lucky to even be alive at all. Sighing, Lúcio pulled the covers back up over his chest just as someone entered the room.

 

The omnic clearly wasn’t a nurse. His (because this was probably the most masculine omnic Lúcio had ever seen) expensive suit looked extremely out of place in the hospital and he wasn’t the standard build that any of the nurses probably were. In contrast to most omnics he knew, including Zenyatta, this one had custom sculpting done on his frame to give him a more human-like appearance, belying that he was something outside of the range of the common omnic. Lúcio also noted with some disquiet that all of the omnic’s vital lights were red.

 

Could this be the omnic they tried to rescue in the slum? God, he hoped so. His luck lately would have this mystery bot be entirely bad news.

 

“Ah good, you’re awake,” he intoned, mechanical voice belying an accent that was, again, entirely by choice and out of the common range for most omnics. The omnic placed a wrapped box, presumably a gift of some sorts, at the foot of his bed with many more Lúcio hadn’t noticed before.

 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you,” said Lúcio. The omnic chuckled darkly.

 

“That is good,” he said, “for both you and me, but irrelevant nevertheless. I am here on behalf of a mutual friend to check on you and deliver a gift.”

 

Lúcio eyed the omnic carefully. He was starting to have a few guesses to who this omnic might be and quite a few of them led back to the hole in his chest.

 

“How...exactly did you get in here?” Lúcio asked and glanced at 76, who still appeared to be quite passed out but still breathing. “Overwatch’s security is pretty good and if I don’t know you…”

 

“Their security can be the best in the world but it’s not going to stop the owner of this hospital from walking in whenever he pleases.” The omnic tapped at the datapad on the wall, pulling up Lúcio’s charts and examining them. “And don’t go looking for my identity either, you won’t find anything worthwhile there.”

 

Another glance at 76. Another snore.

 

“Did you, uh, do something to him?”

 

“Just a mild sedative in the coffee creamer. Don’t worry, he’ll wake up eventually.”

 

“So, if your...friend....needed to know how I was doing, why not just check my records through the access you already have?” Lúcio asked and the omnic turned away from the datapad with a sigh.

 

“Do your questions never cease? And you never ask the right one...Humans, even the more intelligent ones, are astoundingly illogical sometimes. Seeing the records was not enough to assure his heavy heart, though I’m not sure what my presence here will do in regards to that. I will say though, you are looking remarkably well for being on the receiving end of Amelie’s gun.”

 

Everything clicked at once.

 

“You’re from Talon. Akande sent you.”

 

“Finally, some sign of intelligence. Yes, he did. For some reason I’m failing to comprehend at the moment, he has stake in your continued existence. Now that I’ve seen sign of life in all your lacking faculties, I shall take my leave.”

 

And like that, the omnic strutted out of the room just as suddenly as he had arrived. Dumbfounded, Lúcio could only stare at the small present, wrapped in red paper, sitting out of his reach at the foot of the bed. Everything was spiralling out of control. The night with Akande should have never left the hotel, but now it landed him in the hospital. Overwatch probably thought that he was compromised, Talon was probably looking at him like he was a piece of meat, and now everyone would know how much he messed up.

 

A short time later, 76 startled himself awake with a snore and then proceeded to act like he’d never been asleep in the first place. Lúcio didn’t enlighten him as to their curious visitor and soon enough, 76 was replaced by a weepy, but happy, Hana. With her, she brought the datapad from where he had abandoned it beside his bed. He left it closed and let her chatter away about what was happening back at the Watchpoint. Being the friend she was, she immediately picked up on his quietness though he initially tried to wave it off as a reaction to recovery and the drugs they had him on.

 

“76 told me what happened, you know,” she said quietly. “As far as I know, he didn’t tell anyone else. You can talk about it if you need to.”

 

He shook his head and his gaze caught on the box at the end of the bed for what was probably the thousandth time. Tracing his gaze, Hana grabbed it.

 

“You keep looking at it,” she explained as she dumped it in his lap. It was heavier than he thought it would be. “Just open it. I think I know who it’s from.”

 

Sighing, Lúcio carefully untied the silk ribbon binding the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a poncho of some sort, made from tan lengths of woven cloth with green stripes running parallel to its length. Upon closer inspection, there seemed to be little stylized frogs embroidered upon the cloth, hopping the length of the stripes on the front of the fabric leading up to what Lúcio presumed was the neck hole. The reverse side was lined with a heavier cloth, softer than the top fabric by far.

 

“It’s neat,” said Hana as she reached out to run her fingers over the texture, “but what is it?”

 

“I’m not really sure either,” Lúcio said. “Look, you can take off the lining.”

 

“It looks really warm,” Hana murmured as she smoothed her hand over the soft lining. “Which is good, you’re always shivering unless you’re south of the equator! He probably noticed too.”

 

Lúcio said nothing and traced the outline of a frog. Hana watched him mope for a moment before she snatched the gift from his hands.

 

“You should wear it!” she announced and fed her hands through the fabric, presumably trying to find the neck opening to shove it over Lúcio’s head.

 

“Hana, no,” he objected. “I’m fine. Also I have no idea how to wear it.”

 

“Hana yes,” she said, “and we’ll figure it out together. Hold still!”

 

Luckily for Lúcio, Soldier: 76 chose that moment to wander back in the room with Efi, a hand on her shoulder. Probably to keep her from excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet, something she almost alway did when she came to see him.

 

The hand failed to keep her from tackling him.

 

“Lúcio!” she cried as she barreled into his chest. Lúcio nearly bit through his lip to keep from crying out as her head smashed into the bandages on his chest. “I was so worried but everyone else at Overwatch said you were going to be okay but the mission details said that both Widow and Doomfist were there and oh my gosh I can’t even begin to imagine what happened, you should have taken Orisa with you--”

 

“Efi, it’s alright,” he reassured, prying the small girl from her tight hug around his chest. Efi didn’t seem to notice him gritting his teeth. “It all worked out okay. We’ll try to take Orisa next time, okay?”

 

She nodded solemnly and added, “She would have been able to kick Doomfist’s butt. Then he wouldn’t be able to hurt you or anyone else.”

 

Lúcio looked up guiltily to meet Hana’s pained gaze (and 76 too, if he’d actually been able to see past the visor).

 

It was funny how the most innocent phrase could just punch through him like a bullet.

 

Thankfully, Efi was distracted by the gift in Hana’s hands.

 

“Oh! An agbada! Can I see it?”

 

“Is that what this is?” Hana asked. She handed over the folded fabric to Efi, who sat back at the end of the bed and unfolded it. She traced the pattern and giggled when her fingers found the frogs.

 

“Yup,” she said. “It’s a super common thing for men to wear in Numbani. Or really, any Yoruba guy anywhere. Where did you get this? It’s really cute!”

 

“Um, a friend gave it to me,” Lúcio admitted.

 

“A guy friend?” asked Efi with a sly smile and Lúcio felt his face start to burn. She laughed. “It’s okay, I can tell. With the way that this was woven, I can almost guarantee a guy made it. Here, let me help you put it on.”

 

Lúcio leaned forward as much as his bandages allowed him to let Efi slip the agbada over his head. He was only able to get one arm through a sleeve for fear of snagging his IV, so he elected to keep it slightly wrapped around his abdomen under the cloth. Efi tugged the agbada into place, consequently dislodging the breathing tubes from his nose.

 

“Oops, sorry!” she said as he fixed them. “But really, you look pretty good. You’re not quite tall enough to be called _agunt'asoolo,_ but it suits you anyway. Whoever made this for you really put a lot of care into it.”

 

“Yeah...he did.” Lúcio mumbled as he ran his free hand down the front of the agbada. This was physical proof of either how smitten Akande was with him, or how desperate Talon was for him to join them.

 

He wasn’t sure what was worse.

 

“I’d still wear something underneath it in the future,” said Efi, oblivious to his turmoil. “It’s really meant to be an overcoat of sorts. Maybe Orisa and I will make you some beads for your hair to match with little speakers in them. Don’t you think that would be awesome, miss Hana?”

 

Hana nodded with a tight smile on her face. The look she shot Lúcio plainly said _we need to talk about this soon_ and Lúcio averted his gaze back down to the agbada. 76 was not immune to the tension in the room and checked an imaginary watch on his wrist.

 

“Five more minutes, kiddo,” he growled out. “He’s not going to get any better with you playing on him like a jungle gym.”

 

Efi plainly struck up a pout. When her parents let her visit Orisa back at whatever watchpoint she currently based out of, the pout was the demise of nearly anyone around her and she was consequently able to get away with murder.

 

Nearly everyone, except for Ana and 76.

 

Soldier: 76 stared down the small girl and when it became apparent that he wasn’t bowing, Efi turned her attention back to Lúcio, chattering about some of her newer plans and his concert schedule. When finally 76 determined her time was up, she hugged Lúcio tightly (and no, he wasn’t going to admit exactly how much it hurt, it was humiliating that the strength of an eleven-year-old’s hug made him want to cry) and hopped off the bed. It was Hana who escorted her from the room this time, leaving 76 and Lúcio alone in the small room.

 

Lúcio shrugged off the agbada and folded it carefully as his nurse finally came into the room. 76 took it from him and set it by the holopad at the side of the bed while his nurse ran through his vitals and started a new drip of medicine going.

 

“You’re going to be out like a light here in a few,” said his nurse, “so you may want to do whatever you need to before you’re dead to the world again.”

 

His nurse helped him walk stiffly to the bathroom and after settling him back down in bed, left. 76 settled down in the chair beside the bed and Lúcio prepared himself for a lecture. The old man said nothing, though, as Lúcio fussed with the scarf around his hair (hopefully Hana was up for helping him redo all of his locs once more). Finally, the soldier let out a sigh.

 

“You’re not the first to do this, you know,” he said, “and you’re definitely not going to be the last.”

 

“I’m not exactly doing anything,” Lúcio told him, trying to keep the snapping edge out of his voice. “Really, I’m trying _not_ to do anything. But...but…”

 

He shook his head and immediately regretted it as dizziness sucker punched him from the movement. Obviously, the meds were kicking in.

 

“But he won’t let go,” 76 said. “And really, I don’t think you’re ready to let go either. Kid, you look like a love sick idiot anytime you so much as see that thing he got you.”

 

Lúcio flopped back on the bed and huffed.

 

“So?” he finally snapped, feeling more than a little immature. “So what? Are you going to take me off mission rosters because I’m compromised? Remove my agent status?”

 

“I’d be a hypocrite if I did,” said 76 and Lúcio stared at him. “Again, you’re not the first to do this. You have a good head on your shoulders and I don’t think you’re going to be leaping to join Talon anytime soon, or give them too much information.”

 

“So why bring this up, then?” Lúcio’s words came out slurred and his mind struggled to gain traction. He wondered if he’d remember this discussion the next time he woke up.

 

“I just…” 76 sighed again. “I just don’t want to see you making the same mistakes I did. There’s two sides to this, there always is. Don’t do anything stupid but…”

 

76 reached up to the visor as if to pinch his nose but settled for running his fingers through his white hair.

 

“Just know that there’s more to life than fighting, okay? If there comes a time that you’re starting to doubt if you’re in the right place, don’t ignore those doubts. Listen to them. It’ll serve you well.”

 

76 stood up and reached out to lightly ruffle what he could reach of Lúcio’s hair.

 

“Take care of yourself, kid. Get some sleep.”

 

Lúcio watched with drooping eyes as the old soldier marched out of the room and thought back to his encounter with Akande. The face Akande had given him when Lúcio ripped into him was one of a man who, for the first time in his life, doubted the ground on which he’d built his life. 76’s words echoed in his head as he gave into the medication and spiralled into unconsciousness.

  


 

He sincerely doubted that _he_ was the one having second thoughts about where he was in life.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
